Grab the Manual and Debut!

Chapter 63: ✦ Maknae [2] ✦

Understood. Here is **Chapter 63**, written as a **full-length ~2000-word Chapter**, linear progression, no repeated explanations, no cycling metaphors. This Chapter marks the point where **Kang-Joon stops reacting and starts acting**, while **Do-Hyun begins to fracture internally**—not loudly, but decisively.

---

## **Chapter 63: A Role That Cannot Breathe**

The first rehearsal was canceled.

That alone was enough to set everyone on edge.

Starline Entertainment didn’t cancel schedules without reason. When the notification came through—*practice postponed, standby for updates*—the dorm went quiet.

Gun-woo stared at his phone.

Han-bin sat on the couch without speaking.

Jae-hyun leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Do-Hyun stood near the window.

He didn’t look relieved.

"We should rest," Han-bin said carefully.

Do-Hyun shook his head. "We should practice anyway."

"There’s no studio," Gun-woo pointed out.

"We can run it here."

Kang-Joon watched him.

Do-Hyun was already counting under his breath.

---

They practiced in the living room.

The space was too small. The floor uneven. The mirror absent.

It didn’t matter.

Do-Hyun adjusted faster than anyone else.

His movements were sharp, precise, contained. He avoided wide gestures, compensated for the lack of space, corrected himself instantly when he brushed too close to someone else.

It wasn’t practice.

It was control.

"Let’s stop," Kang-Joon said after twenty minutes.

Do-Hyun didn’t respond.

"Do-Hyun."

He finished the sequence before answering.

"One more time."

"No."

Do-Hyun turned.

"What do you mean, no?"

Kang-Joon met his gaze. "We’re stopping."

Silence filled the room.

Gun-woo glanced between them. Jae-hyun straightened slightly.

Do-Hyun’s hands curled into fists.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you’re not listening to your body."

"I am."

"You collapsed yesterday."

"I recovered."

"You didn’t eat."

"I don’t need to."

Kang-Joon stepped closer.

"This isn’t about need," he said. "This is about you punishing yourself."

Do-Hyun laughed.

"Punishing?" he repeated. "For what?"

"For existing wrong."

The words landed hard.

Do-Hyun stared at him.

Then his face went blank.

"You don’t understand," he said.

"I do," Kang-Joon replied. "I understand more than you think."

Do-Hyun turned away.

"I’ll practice alone," he said.

He went to his room and shut the door.

Not hard.

Just final.

---

The call from the company came an hour later.

Emergency meeting.

All members.

No managers present.

The conference room was cold.

Starline’s director sat at the head of the table, hands folded.

"You’ve seen the articles," he said.

No one replied.

"We are managing the situation," the director continued. "But damage control requires cooperation."

His gaze settled on Do-Hyun.

"You understand that perception matters."

"Yes," Do-Hyun said.

"You are young. Fans project onto you. They want consistency."

"Yes."

"No emotional instability. No misunderstandings. No unscripted behavior."

"Yes."

Kang-Joon’s jaw tightened.

The director nodded. "Good."

Jae-hyun spoke then. "What exactly are you asking him to do?"

The director smiled. "What he’s always done."

He looked at Do-Hyun again.

"Be the maknae everyone loves."

---

After the meeting, no one spoke.

They returned to the dorm separately.

Do-Hyun went straight to his room.

Kang-Joon waited ten minutes before following.

The door was unlocked.

Do-Hyun sat on the bed, staring at the wall.

"You don’t have to do that," Kang-Joon said.

Do-Hyun didn’t turn.

"They’re right," he replied. "This is my job."

"Your job isn’t to disappear."

"I’m not disappearing."

"Yes, you are."

Do-Hyun stood abruptly.

"Stop saying that," he snapped.

The sound shocked both of them.

Kang-Joon didn’t back away.

"You think if you erase everything inconvenient, you’ll be safe," he said. "You won’t."

Do-Hyun’s breathing quickened.

"You think I don’t know that?" he demanded. "You think I don’t see how easily people get replaced?"

"This isn’t replacement," Kang-Joon said. "This is destruction."

Do-Hyun laughed sharply.

"You don’t get to say that," he said. "You’re strong. You’ve always been strong."

"That’s not true."

"You survived," Do-Hyun shot back. "I saw it. Every time things got bad, you stayed standing."

Kang-Joon stiffened.

"You think that was strength?" he asked quietly.

Do-Hyun hesitated.

"I did what I had to," Kang-Joon continued. "And it cost me things I didn’t even realize I’d lost."

Do-Hyun looked at him then.

For a moment, the mask slipped.

"What did you lose?" he asked.

Kang-Joon didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know how to explain a life shaped by survival instead of choice.

---

That night, Do-Hyun didn’t sleep.

Kang-Joon knew because the light under his door stayed on.

At three in the morning, Kang-Joon got up.

He knocked once.

No response.

He opened the door.

Do-Hyun sat at his desk, headphones on, replaying practice footage.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"Take them off," Kang-Joon said.

Do-Hyun didn’t move.

Kang-Joon reached over and pulled the headphones away.

Do-Hyun flinched.

"Why are you doing this?" Kang-Joon asked.

"I made mistakes."

"You didn’t."

"I could have."

"That’s not the same thing."

"It is if people notice."

Kang-Joon grabbed the chair and sat in front of him.

"Listen to me," he said. "You are allowed to want things."

Do-Hyun frowned.

"I want to debut."

"You already did."

"I want to stay."

"Then stay," Kang-Joon said. "As yourself."

Do-Hyun shook his head.

"That’s not safe."

Kang-Joon felt a chill run through him.

"Who told you that?"

Do-Hyun didn’t answer.

---

The next day, Do-Hyun forgot a lyric during a recording.

Just one word.

The room froze.

He apologized immediately.

Again.

And again.

The producer sighed. "Relax."

Do-Hyun nodded.

He didn’t relax.

Afterward, Kang-Joon found him in the stairwell, sitting on the steps.

His hands shook.

"I messed up," Do-Hyun said.

"You didn’t."

"I did."

"You corrected it."

"That doesn’t matter."

Kang-Joon crouched in front of him.

"Do-Hyun," he said. "What are you afraid of?"

Do-Hyun swallowed.

"Being unnecessary."

The word settled between them.

"You’re not," Kang-Joon said.

"That’s easy for you to say."

Kang-Joon didn’t argue.

Instead, he said something else.

"Then let’s make you necessary in a way they can’t erase."

Do-Hyun looked at him.

"How?"

"By letting you choose," Kang-Joon replied.

---

That evening, Kang-Joon made a decision.

He went to the company.

Alone.

He requested a schedule adjustment.

The manager frowned. "For Do-Hyun?"

"Yes."

"He’s not in a position to negotiate."

"I am," Kang-Joon said.

The manager hesitated. "You’re risking backlash."

"I know."

"What if this makes things worse?"

Kang-Joon didn’t answer immediately.

Because the truth was simple.

Things were already worse.

---

When Kang-Joon returned to the dorm, Do-Hyun was asleep.

For the first time in days.

Kang-Joon stood in the doorway for a long moment.

The maknae’s face looked younger in sleep. Less guarded.

Kang-Joon closed the door quietly.

But even as he walked away, the weight didn’t lift.

Because he knew now.

This wasn’t about saving Do-Hyun from the industry.

It was about saving him from the role he’d locked himself into.